


5 times Harry thought Zayn was dating someone and the one time he didn't

by wildefire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, uni!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildefire/pseuds/wildefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Harry thought Zayn was dating someone and the one time he didn't.</p><p>Or, the one where Harry falls in love at first touch, Zayn is a philosophy major, and they discover the wonders of the earth together in a greenhouse Niall built.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 times Harry thought Zayn was dating someone and the one time he didn't

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first piece of writing for ao3 and some of you might know some of my other writing (ocean sequence from LJ) which i am still working on, but i've taken just a short little break to churn out this one-shot just to get some creative energy rolling. it's kind of silly and there's absolutely NO editing done so there's probably a few mistakes so just bear with me! if you would like to find me on social media i am wildestagram on tumblr. a quick shoutout to my babe ainslie for encouraging me to write this!! hope you all enjoy!!!

harry thinks it might’ve been love at first touch.

“ _notes from underground_.”

harry pauses in the middle of digging out his student id to peer over the counter of the library desk, “pardon?”

the boy checking out his books is smoothing out the spine of _crime and punishment_ with long gentle fingers. he’s well fit, harry supposes, if he liked dark fluffy hair and mysterious squints.

“you’re picking _crime and punishment_ for the revolutionary paper, right?” the boy’s nametag reads _malik_ , he pushes his thick-framed glasses up, “don’t. go with _notes from underground_. _crime and punishment_ is more existentialist than rejection of utopian socialism.”

“oh.” harry has been in uni for a little more than a month and is still struck when people make intellectual comments. “are you in law too?”

malik smiles crookedly, it’s really nice, “nah, mate. i don’t believe in conformity of society by uniform.”

“oh.” harry says again, trying to conceal the fact he has no idea what that really means. “thanks. i’ll check it out.”

malik hands back _crime and punishment_ , and it’s in this moment, their hands brush, and harry felt it like a supernovic explosion of fireworks, dostoevsky, and maybe _the 1975_ ’s _sex_.

harry will describe it, minutes later, after he’s slowly sprinted through the quad and found his roommate in the rec room, that it was: “like, my soul tried to reach out? and grab onto his? you know, like in _avatar_ when they bond hairs? it was really serious, ed.”

ed’s been harry’s best mate since primary so he’s seen just about every spectrum of harry’s mood. he lets harry slump against his shoulder and he turns the telly onto the food network, which is harry’s favorite channel. the only comment ed makes is, “i hope this doesn’t mean he has a tail.”

 

* * *

 

“malik? _zayn_ malik from philosophy?” nick asks during brunch the next day.

nick grimshaw is harry’s ethics ta, which is weird because nick is neither very assistive or ethical, but nick also does the radio for campus which means he knows everyone.

“zayn.” harry breathes. “what a name. could you tell me about him, please?”

“philosophy major. does art. literature snob extraordinaire. i can always feel his eyebrows judging me from across the library whenever i sparknote aristotle.” grimmy sounds annoyed, but harry has come to learn it means he’s impressed. “i didn’t think he’d be your type, hazza. he’s so broody and, you know, hashtag dark.”

“we’re soulmates.” harry protests.

“he’s got nice cheekbones.” nick agrees.

“it’s not about that.” harry can’t explain it. he picks at his potatoes, frowning, “d’you know if he’s seeing anyone?”

because it’d be kind of awful if zayn didn’t realize harry was his soulmate too.

“why don’t you ask him yourself?” grimmy gestures with his chin at where zayn malik has exited the café doors holding a coffee and a sketchpad. he takes a seat in a corner of the patio by himself and lights a cigarette. “go on, then.”

“i can’t!” harry’s voice is wobbly, there’s a buzzing underneath his skin. “what do i say? oh god, what if he thinks i’m weird? what if he doesn’t like me? what if he thinks my tattoos are stupid? what if he’s _straight_?”

grimmy snorts forcefully, “he’s not. have you seen his hair?”

“ _oh my god_.” harry squeaks, swiping at his fringe, “how’s my hair?”

“curly.” nick replies dryly but reaches over to pet down a defiant ring. then he pushes his tray towards harry, “here. throw this to the bin so you’ll have an excuse to walk by him."

harry can’t remember the last time he was truly nervous speaking to someone. generally people like harry because he smiles a lot and harry likes people because people are marvelous and it’s a very companionable relationship.

“um. hello.” harry is shuffling his feet awkwardly in front of zayn. and when zayn peers up through a fan of lashes, he beams with all ninety-nine of his teeth. this seems to startle zayn and harry’s smile dims a little, “um. just wanted to thank you for the advice. on the paper. um. it was really, um, nice.”

zayn malik blinks, he’s not wearing his glasses so his eyes are dark and deep and clear, and his hair is really big in a cool quiff, and he’s wearing a lot of leather. then he inclines forward with interest, “yeah, mate. no problem. it’s going good then?”

“yeah.” harry breathes.

“what’s your thesis?” zayn squints, “personally i’d go with the paralysis of the conscious man in modern society. the inability of decisions due to intense consciousness, you know?”

“yeah, i know.” harry breathes again, but really he doesn’t. _you’re spectacular_ , harry wants to say, but again, he doesn’t. he steadies his hand, pulling it away from nervously rubbing his shoulder, “m’harry.”

“zayn.” zayn replies easily and returns the shake.

harry braces himself for impact.

zayn’s skin is sunset red and he’s got dark ink curling up his wrist and harry thinks he can feel zayn’s fingers wrap around his heart, something akin to flowers taking root.

it doesn’t seem to have nearly the same effect on zayn but his lips do quirk shyly and harry swoons so hard he almost faints.

“so, are you in art?”

“art and philosophy. double major.” zayn hums, his fingers moving elegant in delicate arches. zayn’s voice is very soft but warm like his skin has been melted into it, “i _was_ in law.”

if harry is not mistaken, it is almost the sound of a confession, and harry is now in a permanent state of breathlessness, “and?”

“and it sucked.” he pauses to shade in a corner, brows furrowed, “my dad and sister are lawyers so i was doing that to continue the family tradition. but i was sitting in philosophy, right? and i was reading plato’s _allegory of the cave_ and it’s talking about how most people only ever see…shades of reality? and it’s the philosophers’ job to break the chains, learn the world outside the cave, and enlighten the others still trapped in the cave. and i was, like, that’s what i want to do, you know? not…be a smart-mouth lawyer that is confined by a set of restraints but, like, a conscious person. bring fire to mankind.”

zayn’s eyes are alight with something lovely like a revolution.

and harry’s heart is beating in a war cry, “like prometheus.”

zayn _smiles_ and _god_ , harry nearly chokes, he is _marvelous_ and maybe this is victory, “yeah. like prometheus, harry.”

“would you –” the invitation is on harry’s tongue, _go out with me_ , _kiss me_ , _marry me underneath a blanket of stars_.

but nick’s eyebrows are dancing obnoxiously over zayn’s shoulder. harry scowls grumpily, trying to get him to stop, but it’s enough to distract zayn, who’s reverted back to mysterious squints, “you know nick grimshaw?”

“grimmy? we’re friends.”

“huh.” zayn gives him an appraising look, then sends grimmy a two-finger salute. “well, i’ve got to run. got a project going on, but lemme know if you need any help on that paper, yeah?” he grins in departure and something deep in harry’s _bones_ ache.

“where can i find you?” harry is impressed with the amount of steadiness he’s able to convey.

zayn shrugs, “here. there. wherever.”

then, he’s gone, like smoke.

 

* * *

 

 **lou teasdale** is studying fashion, permanently paint-splattered, and she’s got a pretty laugh. 

harry heard it once when he was – stalkingly – standing behind her in starbucks. it made harry very self-conscious of his own barking guffaw.

and the thing is this: zayn is clever and interesting and fantastic and harry thinks they would really be _really fantastic_ together if only zayn would realize that and stop dating other people.

“they were holding hands.” harry sniffles pathetically into the pillow while ed putters around to put on the kettle. “grimmy sent me a snapchat of it. he followed them a bit. he said zayn walked her back to the dorm. he’s so wonderful.”

“you’re wonderful too, harry.” ed reminds easily. he is used to harry’s emotional sensitivities.

“not as wonderful as her, obviously!” he huffs but ed’s bringing him tea and he feels bad about raising his voice. grumbling, “sorry for being annoying, ed. but so what they’re both hip and have cool hair! no one will ever love him as much as i do. no one! why isn’t love enough?”

ed doesn’t say anything; ed’s not particularly profound about anything. he just puts on a hoodie (in case harry cries and snots), cuddles up, and pets harry’s hair until he falls asleep.

some days later, when harry is revising in the quad, someone plops down besides him. at first, harry thinks it’s grimmy but grimmy doesn’t smell like patchouli oil or have neon-painted nail, so harry turns and it’s fucking _lou teasdale_ and she says, “hi, i’m lou teasdale. and you’ve got amazing hair. d’you reckon i could give you a style? i’m pretty good, i promise!” 

“um. i – well, i was – um.” harry blinks, his mouth working to catch up to his thoughts. he means to say no because, well, what if it turns out lovely! then harry will have no choice but to like her and it would be terrible! but somehow this all scrambles in his brain so it ends up being, “oh. alright. thanks.”

lou’s studio is in the arts building, filled with fabric, drawings, and sculpting wires. there’s music coming out of a vinyl and scuffles of movement behind a tarp screen. she apologizes, “don’t mind that. i’m setting up for an exhibition. do you want a cuppa?”

harry was right about it being terrible because lou is so talented but she’s also really humble. she’s really sweet on harry and harry is really bad at being indifferent to people who are sweet on him. he is torn between frowning and laughing whenever lou makes a joke, which makes his face stuck on a state of mild confusion.

lou is in the midst of trimming harry’s stubborn curls when the tarp rustles and a tall quiff walks out attached to a rumpled zayn malik. he sits up so abruptly, he almost gets his ear snipped off.

zayn is holding a sketchpad with a cigarette clamped between his lip, “louise, that glue we’ve got shit. think i might run down to the supply store in a bit. and i can’t get that color mix right, you mind taking a look?”

“sure, darling. i’ll do it after i’ve finished with harry’s hair, since you know, you won’t let me touch yours.”

zayn looks up and their eyes meet through the mirror and it’s quiet for a beat. like maybe the cosmo is rearranging itself. then zayn’s focus snaps to lou, who apparently has been chattering this whole time, “- think i’ll grease back his hair. i’m going to get some gel. be back in a pop.”

she squeezes zayn’s hand and they seem to share a meaningful, silent conversation with only stares before she bounds out of view.

“you alright?” zayn asks through a puff of smoke.

harry would worry about how he’s smoking indoors but he’s busy panicking about his ears, which get very red when he’s bashful, on full display, “um. yeah. lou invited me over. to do my hair. if that’s okay?”

zayn squints again. harry has yet to figure out what it means. maybe he just does it so his lashes would look extra long, which is reason enough, harry supposes. “yeah, ‘course. louise’s brilliant. we’re doing a collaboration for her final project.”

“oh.” harry doesn’t really care what zayn and _louise_ do in their spare time as a couple, pointedly because that means zayn isn’t doing harry.

zayn pushes at his glasses, “the paper’s gone good?”

harry has been practicing his response for a week, “yeah, i did the fallacies of rationalism and utopianism. how man values the exercise of free will more than the law of reason and the inability of utopian societies to codify human behavior.”

it’s the most work harry’s put in a paper ever.

“very nice.” zayn doesn’t seem impressed, but rather his eyes are sparkling as if he’s known harry’s had it in him all along. “could i read it sometime?”

“um. yeah.” harry feels his ears burning. “sure.”

“i’m back!” lou returns brandishing a tub of gel. zayn greets her with a kiss on the cheek, then he’s slinking off again, murmuring about supplies.

harry tries not to look crushed so he settles for mildly crestfallen. harry does mild emotions very well. lou is very gentle with his hair, she doesn’t tug, and harry likes that. he points to the small photo tucked in the corner of the mirror, “who’s that?”

“that’s my little girl, lux.”

“your daughter?” harry squeaks. the little girl’s got lou’s wide eyes and none of zayn’s dark charms, “she looks like you.”

“hm.” lou acquiesces, “wait ‘til you meet my fiancé.”

something fierce loosens in harry’s chest. he can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves his lungs. he beams brightly at lou and her glance is sly beneath her lashes. he pats her wrist, “can’t wait.”

 

* * *

 

 **niall horan** is irish, bottle-blonde, and studying botany, which harry gathers mean he smokes a lot of weed and likes to play _teenage dirtbag_ on his guitar in the quad. he’s got a pretty good voice, he also might be even more easy-going than ed, which is how they both end up sitting in the grass listening to niall explain the nature of botany. 

“dude, plants are fucking beautiful, okay? they make their own food, they are self-sustaining creatures, and they provide for the world. they love music, they’re resilient. they’re fucking amazing.”

“that’s nice, niall.” harry placates. he has no strong feelings for plants but harry appreciates all living things.

niall claps harry on the shoulder. it’s a wonder how niall is able to wear just a tank-top in autumn. harry can still feel the wind through his jumper. niall’s eyes are delightfully blue under the brim of his snapback, “i like you harry. you too, ed. you lads coming to the party at _the_ _library_?”

 _the_ _library_ is a pub off-campus that all the uni kids go on the weekends. harry’s only been once, because he’s pre-law, and grimmy’s also banned him because he declared it ‘ _revolting_ ’ and ‘ _full of youths_ ’.

harry didn’t get a chance to answer because niall is laughing-shouting – niall is the only person harry knows that can laugh and do other things simultaneously – “malik! oi!”

zayn, who’s toting a canvas while chatting with a pretty girl with purple hair, crosses the quad for them. he lifts up niall’s cap when he gets close enough and pressed a messy kiss into niall’s gradient hair, “you okay, babe?”

harry’s guard goes up.

niall is laughing-complaining, “piss off, malik! were you talking to perrie edwards?”

“jealous?” zayn’s eyes are squinty in happiness and harry thinks _yes! i’m jealous! notice me!!!_

“i know you love me best!” niall cackles, then does the unthinkable: reaches over and sticks his hand into zayn’s artfully constructed quiff. zayn squawks, indignant, but he doesn’t banish niall to dante’s _inferno_ like harry had thought he would, he just continues to look at niall very fond. and it’s not fair because people usually look at _harry_ like that. “malik. that’s ed sheeran. and harry styles. mates, this is zayn. he’s starting a greenhouse with me.”

zayn looks a little shy to have been called out, “it’s barely a garden.”

“hello.” ed greets diplomatically and because ed’s a good friend, starts talking to niall about guitars.

“a garden, huh?” harry sidles next to zayn, who smells like spicy cologne and cigarette smoke. he flashes a smile that knows will make him dimple, “voltaire’s _candide_?”

zayn’s responding grin is so _warm_ , “a bit of voltaire. a bit of virginia woolf. _the flowers bloomed and faded_ , their seasons are as short and divine as us.”

“what do you grow?” and somehow the question seems more intimate than if harry’d asked how many people zayn’s shagged.

“orchids, mostly. they take a lot of work; they get fussy if you don’t pay attention, but i don’t mind. i’ve got a couple sunflowers. and niall’s helping me with some broad-leaves.”

“that sounds great, zayn.” harry’s pretty sure he’s got stars in his eyes but zayn is just so _incredible_.

“you could come see –” zayn invites quietly and harry is anticipating it so much, he’s stuck out his entire torso eagerly.

but of course, niall horan is interrupting, bumping shoulders with zayn (and harry barely restrains from stomping his foot), laughing-asking, “hey, you’re going to be my date to _the library_ , right? remember last weekend? that was fun. we should do it again.”

harry shrinks back at the implications.

once again, ed saves the day – ed is amazing, ed deserves to be canonized – gesturing between them, “are you two an item?”

harry holds his breathe.

niall is laughing-snorting, “nah, malik is way too pretty for me. and he’s shit at fifa.”

ed smiles calmly, and okay so maybe ed isn’t really looking out for harry, “i’m incredible at fifa.”

 

* * *

 

 **perrie edwards** has purple hair, an infectious energy, and apparently she volunteer models _nude_ in the arts department.

it’s friday night and after a _lot_ of pleading and his ‘mewling kitten’ look, harry has managed to drag grimmy out to _the library_ with him and ed. currently, they are navigating through sweaty crowds while the speakers blast katy perry. the floors are kind of sticky and there’s a lot of hollering going on, but it seems like good fun.

“harold,” nick’s expression is sour. he looks extremely out of place in his checkered scarf and he’s wearing _brogues_ , for christ’s sake. “this place is _vile_.”

“i’ll go get us a pint.” ed is always in good-spirits when he’s around alcohol and people.

“if we leave now, we could still make it to the _koffeeshop_. aimee is doing her poetry reading tonight. we could go back to mine afterwards, i’ve got some new vinyls.”

“oh, let up, grimshaw. you need to have some real fun.” ed has reappeared with niall horan in tow, who is in another variation of obey vest and snapback. niall greets him with a fluff of his curls, pushing a sweating bottle of beer into his hand, laughing-slurring, “harry! my lad! good lad!”

“hi, niall.” he swipes his fringe aside, takes a long pull of beer. it tastes watered-down but it’s bubbly and harry’s a bit of a lightweight so he likes it fine. grimmy’s got his arms crossed, his hair posh, his lips pressed into a thin line. harry elbows him, narrowing his eyes in anger, but it comes off as mildly irritated, “c’mon, nick. you could at least try to have fun. you’re being stubborn. and rude.”

niall follows their exchange like a tennis match, looking thoughtful or maybe just pissed, “man, grimshaw. you’ve been pinned, haven’t you?”

“shove off. i’ll need a drink if i’m gonna stay.” nick rolls his eyes but his tone is lighter. he turns towards the bar, grumbling to a smiling harry, “you’re lucky you’ve got those dimples.”

harry mingles a bit with niall before a band of his friends drag him off to do shots. by then, harry is a little buzzed and he’s bumped into his friend cara from modern history. they’re chatting amiably about football and a gig they both happen to have tickets to when grimmy reappears looking a bit strange.

“you seem like you’ve had a little too much. ready to go?” grimmy’s voice is loud and obnoxious, his eyes are surprisingly gentle though.

he pulls away with a bit of a waver, “no, m’fine! don’t be awful, grimmy. we’ve only just got here! and i haven’t even seen zayn.” okay oops, so maybe his mouth is a little more loose than usual.

“zayn malik?” cara interrupts.

“yes!” harry blinks, almost missing nick’s alarmed expression. “d’you know him?”

cara shrugs, “we’re in the same studio art class. that’s him over there, innit?”

harry swivels a little too fast, he almost loses his footing. zayn is standing with his back against the wall, a beer resting on his thigh. he’s holding hands lightly with the same purple-haired girl from the quad. they’re standing _dreadfully_ close and zayn’s laughing in earnest at something she’s saying, all squinty eyes, butterfly lashes.

there’s a cold weight in the pit of harry’s stomach that he doesn’t recognize. he swallows hard because his throat feels hot, “who’s that?”

“perrie edwards? she’s a volunteer nude model in our studio art class.”

“are they going out then?” harry asks meekly. he doesn’t dare look over, he feels as if he might intrude upon something.

“i know she just started dating somebody. didn’t know it was him though. you fancy him?”

he wants to wax poetry about how zayn and him are taken from the same star and how the sun is alive underneath his skin and how zayn’s mind is a sea of light. but he’s too drunk and he knows the words won’t come out right.

“let’s get some air in you, hazza.” grimmy is tugging him away and he’s thankful.

it’s a clear, beautiful night outside. there are a lot of stars out, swimming above his head. grimmy nudges him, “you alright?”

“no.” harry admits. he wants to run a bath, put on adele, and have a good cry. “i know you might think it’s silly. sorry for being annoying, i’m complaining…but i really like him, grimmy. he’s so fantastic.”

“i don’t think you’re silly, harry.” nick says. nick can be very sentimental, “i think you’re great and he should realize that. d’you want to go?”

“yes, please.”

he pats harry on the head, “stay put. i’ll just pop in to tell ed we’re leaving.”

the wind picks up a bit after grimmy’s gone so harry huddles into his long-sleeve and ducks against the side of the building. of course, he is not the only one bracing himself as he finds himself face-to-face with a slow-blinking zayn.

zayn is wearing his usual smile, warm and lovely, “we just keep running into each other. i think there’s a word for that.”

he’s hinting at something but harry is not sober enough to pick it up, instead he greets, “hello.” and because he’s a bit drunk, “you’ve got eyes like constellations.”

“i do?” zayn bites back a laugh, drawing deep on his cigarette.

“yeah.” there’s all this _light_ in zayn’s eyes. “like cygnus – the swan. you’re marvelous.”

zayn does laugh this time, little puffs of smoke glancing into the air. he offers harry one from a rumpled pack. he shakes his head, presses his hands to his chest, “i can’t. i have asthma.”

zayn nods, tucking it back into his pocket. it feels like he’s studying harry, “i didn’t know you were into astronomy.”

“oh. i’m doing an astronomy course. i, um, i like space.”

“you do?”

“um, yeah.” he pulls his sleeves over his knuckles, shivering a bit, “it’s fascinating. there’s scary stuff, um, like black holes and dark matter and how nothing escapes them, like, not even light? it’s a complete breakdown of science outside our understanding. but then there’s like, wonderful things, like how we are made of the same things the stars made out of and how there are places that never go dark. it’s so mysterious and beautiful and grand. it’s marvelous.”

zayn is dropping his cigarette and shimmying out of his leather jacket, draping it taut across harry’s shoulder, “i thought i was marvelous?”

“you are.” harry agrees, blinking slow. zayn’s hands are on the lapel of the jacket still and maybe zayn is inviting him for a kiss. he swallows, “your girlfriend probably thinks so too.”

“pezza?” zayn tilts his head in question. harry winces. zayn leans a bit closer, “maybe she does. but she’s gone home with _her_ girlfriend.”

the emphasis is clear and zayn’s eyes are very bright.

harry could kiss him like this.

“harry?” nick sounds disapproving. he’s got his chin lifted very high, glaring very pointedly at zayn, “is everything alright?”

“grimshaw.” zayn nods. as he steps away, harry recognizes a sudden lost of heat.

“we should go, hazza, it’s getting late.” nick tugs on harry’s arm. it’s really weird for nick to look angry, he kind of looks like an enraged peacock.

harry doesn’t want to go but he’s also reluctant to make a scene so he waves wobbly, “i’ll see you around, zayn. goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

 **louis tomlinson** answers the door when harry goes to return zayn’s leather jacket and the thing is that: harry really, really likes louis.

“hi, um. sorry for being annoying, does zayn live here?” harry asks even though zayn’s name is taped on the door.

“zayn’s not here.” the boy says but he’s pulling harry into the room. he’s got the bluest eyes harry’s ever seen, a swoop of feathery brown hair, and more tanned than anyone’s got the right to be in england. “i’m louis. who are you?”

“um. m’harry.” he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be averting his eyes because louis is wearing a green frock and green leggings and not much of anything else. he tries to focus on the room, which has got clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor, skateboards propped against the door, and one wall is completely spray-painted. zayn’s bed is maroon. there’s a carton of marlboro golds on his bedside table along with a stack of comics and an impressive collection of hair products.

“hello, harry. zayn’s in class or something right now. you should help me rehearse while you wait.” a script is thrust into harry’s hand and harry supposes louis is just one of those people that tells instead of asks.

and harry really, really likes louis. he’s incredibly pretty, sharp, and so hilarious he could break harry’s ribs. if harry hadn’t already found his soulmate, he might’ve thought it was louis.

louis is in drama and he’s trying for puck in _a midsummer night’s dream_. 

“what hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,” louis is waggling his eyebrows, “so near the romp of the fairy queen?”

harry is giggling, “it’s ‘cradle’, louis.”

“i’m improvising!” louis proclaims over harry’s laughter. “c’mon, hurry. give me the next line. my audition’s tomorrow!”

harry is struggling through the next stanza when the lock clicks and zayn strolls in. he jumps a little when he sees harry. it registers to harry that this might be a bit creepy, but zayn’s pulling his headphone off, addressing louis, “what did we say about forcing the guests to rehearse with you?”

“we encourage it.” louis’s voice is candy-sweet. he bounds over to kiss zayn on the cheek. zayn’s got stubbles today; it does things to harry. louis adds, “harry doesn’t mind.”

“i don’t.” harry supports. “i just came by to, um, give back your jacket? i don’t have your number and i, um, found out where you live from niall. i hope you don’t mind.”

“i don’t.”

“okay.” harry concedes, handing over the jacket back to zayn a little forlornly – and harry didn’t wear it to bed, he didn’t, no matter what ed says. he shuffles his feet awkwardly because louis’s off in the bathroom and it’s silent with zayn’s eyes scanning him, “i should, um, go.”

“i’ll walk you.” zayn offers gently, but then louis’s bounding out of the bathroom (he’s got leaves tucked in his hair), wrapping his arms tight around zayn’s middle.

“no! no, don’t leave! i need you like the moon and the stars! zayn, you can’t leave me!”

zayn seems embarrassed, “don’t be theatrical, louis. it’s just for a minute.”

“oh, parting is such sweet sorrow! darling, zayn!” louis doesn’t loosen up but he does lower his voice, “could you please stay and help me rehearse? i’m nervous and i really want the part.”

louis sounds vulnerable and zayn’s expression is so tender that harry speaks up, “it’s fine. i’ll just see myself out.”

zayn looks as if he may say something but feels uncomfortable doing so with a louis attached to his hip so he just nods.

harry exits quietly, mindful to close the door behind him, feeling like he’s intruded upon something unspoken.

he tells so much to nick, who dons a very strange expression. nick sounds strangled, “no. tomlinson is not dating zayn malik. he’s not. i would know.”

“you didn’t see the way they looked at each other, nick.” harry picks at his dinner dejectedly while ed warns him not to play with his food. “maybe it’s really private, you know? and it makes sense. they are roommates and all.”

“no.” nick slams down his fork. harry recoils in surprise. nick seems upset, but not in his usual way about indie music or with the café’s lack of soy options or the way people wear plaid unironically. his tone is quite forceful, which is unfamiliar to harry, “no, he’s not dating him. he’s not dating anyone.”

“okay.” harry senses something there that he probably shouldn’t touch with a ten-meter pole. they let the subject drop uneasily to focus on their meal but neither of them are very hungry.

a few days later, louis tomlinson is announced as puck in the new production of _a midsummer night’s dream_ and nick brings him flowers, which louis throws into the fountain, yelling about never calling and being kept a secret and nick screams about immaturity and awful jealousy.

somehow they end up snogging and trading romantic declarations in a spectacularly public fashion.

 

* * *

 

 **liam payne** used to date zayn. this is a concrete fact. harry heard it from ed, who heard it from josh, who heard it from niall. so he’s pretty sure it’s true. 

louis confirmed it too when harry went into his room to look for grimmy, hoping for a peek at zayn. to his disappointment, he only found the two of them, both dressed in costumes that harry isn’t sure rather it’s for a play or for their own enjoyment.

“s’thursday, innit?” louis asks pointedly.

“yes?” harry verifies.

“why, i thought everybody knew.” louis smirks. “thursdays are rowing practice.”

“zayn rows?” harry imagines zayn’s preferred activities to be smoking, reading, and brooding about the decline of contemporary philosophy.

“no. but liam payne is captain of the crew team.” louis dances over to zayn’s desk, rifling through (harry averts his gaze awkwardly) until he comes up with a photograph. “here.”

it’s a young, tender photo of a smiling sandy haired boy, broad and athletic and very not-harry, holding a reluctantly grinning zayn.

“he’s always down by the river on thursdays.” louis adds.

harry doesn’t walk by the river on purpose. he doesn’t. he’s just going to head to the observatory tower and it just happens to be on the way.

zayn is not there. harry’s not disappointed, he’s not because it’s like he’s gone there on purpose –

“harry?” zayn is standing behind him, holding a sketchpad and grinning with a hint of confusion. “what’re you doing here?”

“hello!” harry waves exaggeratedly. “i’m, um, just passing through! i’m going to the observatory.”

zayn smiles and something is different about it, not as…mysterious, it’s disarming, “right. astronomy.”

harry blushes, thinking back to the night outside _the library_ , “yeah, astronomy. thanks for indulging me that night. i was a bit pissed.”

“i don’t mind.” zayn replies easily. zayn pauses, then laughs a bit guiltily, “i actually don’t know much about you. it’s weird. because i feel like i’ve – ”

“ – zayn!” a deep voice hollers then a strong body is slamming into him, laughing, and if it’s possible liam payne is sunnier in person, all arms and skin and crinkly eyes, “you’re here!”

“i’m here every week, lee.” zayn rolls his eyes but he’s smiling and harry watches numbly as he brings their foreheads together to touch, zayn’s hand lingering intimately on the back of liam’s neck.

“i know. but i’m always excited to see you.”

“me too.” zayn’s voice is raw, frayed with affection in some tired way. he seems to remember harry then, who’s taken to staring intensely at the ground, “this is harry.”

“harry.” liam repeats, heavier. he shoots a quick, meaningful glance at zayn, who pinches his side. “hi, i’m liam.”

“hi, liam.” they shake hands. liam’s arm looks like they could hold two harrys in them. it makes harry feel wholly inadequate. “um, sorry for being annoying, but, um i should get to class.”

liam is smiling really big, it makes his face go all funny with happiness, “i hope i’ll see you around, harry.”

harry doesn’t say anything in response. he feels bad about it the entire way to class.

* * *

 

in astronomy, harry can’t focus because the mars surface looks like zayn’s skin and zayn’s got hair like the space around a black hole and eyes like an exploding supernova. 

astronomy is usually the calming part of harry’s day and his telescope was being finicky so he leaves in a bit of a mood.

in a turn of the cosmos, zayn is waiting for harry outside, sucking down a cigarette. he puts it out even though it seemed barely lit when he sees harry, “hello. will you come with me?”

“i’ve got…” he’s actually got an ethics paper due tomorrow but he’s turning it into grimmy, who probably won’t be too terrible on him if it’s subpar. “sure.”

zayn takes him down towards the science departments. his fingers are twitchy like he wants a smoke, which harry tells him would be alright, but he shakes his head and says, “asthma, right?”

taken-aback, harry tries to ignore the blooming heat in his chest, “yeah.”

“i’m not dating liam.” zayn blurts after a moment. it’s the first time harry’s seen zayn graceless. “we did, i mean. throughout secondary school but then after my freshmen year, i had my, like, philosophical awakening and we just kind of grew apart. we wanted different things. so we’re not dating. i’m not dating anyone.”

“oh.” harry exhales. there’s a fluctuating high color on zayn’s cheek. harry wonders how low that blush goes.

but then zayn stops and harry realizes they’re standing in front of a small, glass greenhouse tucked behind the biology building. zayn unlocks the door and lets harry in first. it’s probably the size of his dorm room, but it’s clean and smells divine. there are white orchids hanging overhead and purple ones in pots. a patch of mammoth sunflowers that come up to harry’s chest.

he strokes a budding orchid with careful fingers, turning, he bumps into zayn, who’s just a whisper of warmth away, “ _oh_.”

“we just keep running into each other.” zayn smiles. it takes a moment to register why those words are familiar; zayn’s said them before that night outside the pub. “some people might call it fate.”

harry tries to take a deep breathe, “what were you going to say today? before liam came up?”

he can feel zayn’s laugh on his cheek, can try to count all million-two of zayn’s lashes, “that it’s weird i don’t really know anything about you. but i feel like i’ve always known you.”

“oh.” his heart is pounding like it’s on the verge of discovering something new, “well i’m from holmes chapel, chesire. i’ve got an older sister, gemma, she’s really clever. bananas are my favorite fruit. i like cats. i’m doing law because i believe in justice. i listen to _the 1975_ a lot. and i think i’ve loved you since the moment you touched my hand. do you think that’s weird?”

“no, i don’t think that’s weird.” zayn’s voice is very soft and his eyes look very sweet as he laces their fingers together and harry realizes this is the first time zayn’s touched him. zayn’s palm is slightly calloused, his fingers long, it’s very tender. zayn’s other hand is resting lightly on harry’s hip, “i think it’s wonderful.”

“oh.” zayn’s head is tilting but harry’s still a bit miffed, “why didn’t you say anything then?”

“i thought you were dating grimshaw.” zayn’s mouth glances across his jaw.

harry blinks, “louis is dating grimmy.”

zayn makes an impatient noise, murmurs, “i know that now.” then presses their lips together.

they kiss underneath a wreath of orchids and up above, the orion belt is a dazzling trail of light. zayn’s lips are soft and dry and he kisses harry the way he would like to be kissed for the rest of his life.

somewhere in space, harry thinks, the star they were made from burns a little brighter.


End file.
